


Amelia Greens and the Search for the Glass Palace

by ThisCat



Category: One Piece
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crack Treated Seriously, Existentialism, Gen, Impel Down (and associated trigger warnings), Major Original Character(s), Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26858242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisCat/pseuds/ThisCat
Summary: So. Let’s begin.Amelia Greens is a fairly normal girl, just seventeen years old, living a normal life together with her mother in a relatively normal home. Her favourite pastime is to read comics. Specifically, manga. Even more specifically, a certain long-running Shounen Jump title. Namely, One Piece.She is at this moment not yet aware that her life is soon to take a drastic turn.She looks up from what she’s reading, confused, and says, “Wait, is this a fucking self-insert?”
Comments: 53
Kudos: 43





	1. The Making of Amelia Greens

So. Let’s begin.

Amelia Greens is a fairly normal girl, just seventeen years old, living a normal life together with her mother in a relatively normal home. Her favourite pastime is to read comics. Specifically, manga. Even more specifically, a certain long-running Shounen Jump title. Namely, One Piece.

She is at this moment not yet aware that her life is soon to take a drastic turn.

She looks up from what she’s reading, confused, and says, “Wait, is this a fucking self-insert?”

…Don’t swear, Amelia. And no, it’s not. You’re nothing like me.

“So it’s an _OC_ -insert, then. Why not just make it a self-insert if you’re already writing this kind of story?”

Okay first of all, there’s tons of good reasons to use OCs. It gives me way more freedom to develop a character however I want and make them fit the story they’re in, and also, I’m just not that good at self-inserts? Nothing against it, I just never vibed well with dropping myself into a fictional universe.

“Oh, and dropping _me_ in is just fine, then?”

You weren’t supposed to become self-aware!

“Wow, good job with that, _writer_.”

She’s starting to get angry now.

“Hell _yes_ I’m getting angry!”

Stop commentating on my narration!

“Stop narrating my thoughts!”

I… okay fine, I’ll do my best. Can I get back to my opening descriptions now?

“One second. Are you a woman?”

For the most part, yes? Gender is weird. Why?

“Nothing. Just… guess I’d feel weird having some man describe what I look like.”

I can understand that. No fun to come aware and find yourself in one of those novels that start like, _Amelia Greens wakes up and immediately looks in the mirror, sighing at her subpar but somehow still striking appearance. She has haunting, glittering blue eyes, like two sapphires shining in her head, long, shining hair and just, like, the biggest tits mankind has ever seen._

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_. Stop that right now! What do my tits have to do with anything?”

True true, let me amend that. _Just kidding. In fact, she barely has tits at all. Flat as a board, that girl._

“Stop _retconning_.”

It’s fine to retcon if it’s lampshaded and played for a joke.

“No, it’s _not_.”

We’re already dangerously meta. Just roll with it.

You’re right, though. Your appearance doesn’t really matter yet. I don’t even know where to put you.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

You’re playing a dangerous game, Amelia. For the record, I had a plan, and then you started talking back and now I have to change everything, so _thank you_ , for that.

“You’re welcome. Do I at least get a say? Since it’s my entire fate we’re talking about and all?”

Eh, why not.

So what’s your preference? The typical method is to drop the person somewhere early on the East Blue and have them tag along with the Straw Hat Crew, but there’s tons of ways to do it. You could reincarnate into a canon character?

“ _God_ no.”

Okay, be reborn as someone’s child, or just be dropped in wholesale? Either’s fine, but I could also put you somewhere else. Do you _want_ to be a Straw-Hat Pirate?

“I don’t… maybe? I don’t know if they need me.”

Maybe you need them. What do _you_ want, Amelia?

“Mostly I just want to live.”

…You _do_ realize what I’ll have to do to make an engaging story out of ‘I want to live,’ right?

Amelia hesitates as realization catches up with her.

“I told you to stop that!”

Sorry.

“Anyway, yeah, scratch that. I’ll find a goal. Just have to think about it for a while.”

Fair enough. I could make you a Charlotte kid? I think that’s something people do these days.

“Ugh, I don’t want to have to deal with Big Mom.”

No? Okay, how about I drop you right in the middle of the Paramount War?

“Why would you _do_ that?”

Hm, no, that’s Jules’s story, anyway.

“Jules?”

Oh, uh, my actual attempt at a One Piece self-insert, and what finally decided for me that self-inserts aren’t my thing. It was a fun story, but I didn’t have fun writing it, so it never became a thing.

“Your name is Jules?”

Not… Not really, no? My penname is ThisCat. You can call me that.

“Don’t know how to pronounce that.”

Just read it as written, it’s fine. You can also call me Cat, if you want?

“Nah, sounds confusing. I’m just gonna call you Jules.”

Fair enough, I suppose.

“Speaking of Marineford, though. I know what happens there. How much of canon do I actually know?”

Hm, well, as much as I know at the time of writing this, I suppose? So, up to chapter 991, several movies, fillers, some extra material and also Ace’s novel Volume 1.

“Ace’s novel, eh? Is that even canon?”

Dunno. Not really, I guess.

“You guess? Then how do you know what’s going to happen in _this_ story?”

…Because I’m writing it, Amelia. This isn’t Oda’s canon, this is my canon, which is of course pretending to be Oda’s canon.

“…Right. So is the novel canon here?”

Eh… I’ll say the specific events exactly probably aren’t, but the characters in it exist? It’s probably not gonna matter anyway. Unless you want to be a Spade Pirate, of course.

“No, I don’t think I do. It sounds like, uh, it sounds like a mess, to be honest.”

Sure. Want to be an extra ASL sibling?

“Weird. No.”

Hey, you could be Akainu’s daughter?

“ _Hell_ no. Drop me in Impel Down before _that_.”

Sure!

“Wait! I didn’t mean it!”

Too late!

Your mother was a pirate, was arrested and thrown in jail. Her captain was executed, but she was left to rot in Level 1, too insignificant for anyone to care about.

She was also pregnant, and you were born there, in the first level of hell, to darkness and screaming.

“Fuck. Fuck you. You’re not going back on this, are you?”

No, it’s too interesting. You know it’s true already, don’t you?

“Shit. No way I’m getting a cool devil fruit either like this, is there?”

Can’t see how that would happen, no.

“Fuck you, Jules. At least let me be something cool, then.”

You know what? That’s fair.

Your mother was human, but your father, whoever he might have been, was not, and so you’re born half… dwarf.

“Oh, _fuck_ you.”

Hey, don’t rag on the dwarves! They’re cool too.

“I’m a damn _Tontatta_?”

Not necessarily! They’re just one tribe, after all, and there’s no way for you to tell where your father came from, as you’ve never met him.

Anyway the dwarves are cool. They’re really strong for their size, the Tontattas have those cool tails, and Big Mom’s half-dwarf kid has fairy wings it seems like, so you can choose between those, if you want.

“Can I at least have both?”

Don’t you think that’s a little much?

“Jules, you’re writing _OC-insert One Piece fanfic_. Nothing is too much.”

Fair point well made. How about I go back to the description now?

“Go ahead.”

Amelia Greens is a small girl. At the time she stopped growing, she was just a foot tall.

It’s good, living in a place like this, to not need much to eat. Especially since her small size meant her mother managed to hide her pregnancy, out of fear of the prison wardens taking her child away.

The child of a pirate is a pirate as well. There was never any chance there for peace.

But Amelia grows up on what she can get from her mother, and from her mother’s cellmates. She learns to sneak unseen through the great prison that is her home, slip through holes too small for regular people, sneak through hollow walls and between bars of cages, helped by her wings to give her flight for short distances when she needs it and a long slim tail for balance.

It is not a normal life, but it is normal to her.

“Do I know Iva?”

_Do_ you know Iva? It would make sense, wouldn’t it?

There has always been a secret, hidden space between the lower floors of Impel Down. Over the years Amelia has found several concealed entrances to it, which she uses to disappear whenever she’s in danger of being seen.

There are people there, these days. It’s a bright and loud and lively place, in a way Amelia has never seen elsewhere. It’s beautiful, nearly unbelievable, and she helps the people there to spy, and gather more people, one by one. The hope was to bring her mother there some day, but this far, the closest entrance to her mother’s cell is far too far away for it to be easily done.

So Amelia spends some time in that hidden paradise, but she doesn’t live there. She always returns to that cell on Level 1, and her mother.

Is this you, Amelia?

“Yes. Thank you, I think. It’s terrible, but it’s me.”

Do you know what you want, now?

“I think so, yes. Could you like, place me?”

Oh, of course.

Amelia is sitting in the shadow on top of a cage on Level 2, resting against the cold stone wall, watching the jailor beasts prowl past below. They’re not as dangerous as the guards, as long as she can escape them, because even if they see her, they won’t be able to report her appearance to anyone in charge.

“Thank you.”

At the sound of her voice, the nearest jailer beast raises its head curiously.

“Oh for, _come on_ ,” she hisses, getting up and running swiftly along a ledge above the video snails. She reaches a crack in the wall and climbs into a hidden alcove where she can neither be seen nor heard. “That was _uncalled_ for.”

I mean, your voice is in dialogue tags. Did you assume it wasn’t out loud?

“I _assumed_ I… whatever. From now on, if I’m hiding, I’ll mumble so quietly only you can hear, alright?”

Alright. You’re fine, anyway. You don’t mind me narrating your actions?

“No, not as long as you don’t try to get into my head.”

Sounds reasonable. You were saying?

She sighs, leaning back against the wall and letting the tension out of her body.

“You know, my mother used to tell me these stories about the place our family comes from. I can’t know for sure if they’re true, because she’s never been there either, but I want them to be true, and in a world like this, it’s not that unlikely.

“She said the whole island is a great forest, all green, with flowers peeking out. The ground is covered in moss, and the tree trunks are covered in flowering vines, and even the sunlight from overhead is dyed green as it streams through the leaves of the canopy.

“There’s a palace there, in that forest, a grand, glittering thing, built out of glass, so that the people who live in it can always see the beauty around them.

“It’s protected at every side by powerful crystal warriors, so that no attacking force will ever reach the palace, and if you can make your way there and prove that you belong, you’ll be allowed to live there safely for the rest of your life. I want to find it.”

That’s beautiful, Amelia.

“Thank you.”

But, can I ask, why now? I doubt you knew you were seventeen until I told you, and it’s an arbitrary age. Why go out to find it now, and not earlier?

“Not a valid answer to say it’s because the story starts now, is it?”

I mean, you can if you want. We’ve already killed the fourth wall.

“My mother died a week ago.”

Oh.

Shit, I… sorry, Amelia. I didn’t know.

“You didn’t?”

I mean, I guess I did but… I didn’t really think about it. I’m so sorry. That sucks.

“Yeah, it does. But, well, we saw it coming. I’ve said my goodbyes and done all I can. I wish life could’ve gone differently, but I don’t regret anything.”

And now you’re leaving.

“Now I’m leaving. One thing first, though, Jules?”

Yes?

“When is this, exactly? On the timeline?”

Hmm. I think maybe that’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself. Life won’t be easy, Amelia, and I can’t be your walkthrough.

“Yeah… I suppose that’s fair. Will you be my friend, though?”

I hope we can manage that, yes.

“Then… start us off, will you?”

Start us off? Oh, right. Well, fanfics usually don’t have title cards, but I suppose we’re breaking all the rules anyway. So, let’s get into it.

#  **Amelia Greens and the Search for the Glass Palace**

“Nice.”

Thanks.

“So what colour are my eyes actually, anyway? Blue?”

Oh. No, they’re bright green. So’s your hair and tail, though they’re a little dirty at the moment. You’re wearing a simple black and white striped dress tied with ribbons in the back, that your mother made out of one of her pant legs.

“Thank you. So uh… how big _are_ my tits?”

I thought you said that doesn’t matter?

“It doesn’t, but after your bullshit I can’t help but be curious.”

Why don’t you try looking down?

“Oh… Huh. Yeah alright, fair enough. I’ll take it.”

And we've begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's... something. It's going to be a little fourth-wall breaking, so feel free to send Amelia comments and questions and encouragement through me, if you want. Maybe she'll answer next chapter.


	2. A Last Meeting Between Friends

Amelia moves swiftly up from Level 2.

She can move between the tightly secured levels of Impel Down as easily as she can walk down a corridor, practically and literally flying up walls and slipping through tiny holes and narrow gaps as if they were regular doorways.

She stops at the surface floor. It’s the only part of this place with fresh air, with sunlight and even greenery. The instruments of torture are never far away, but the screams that reach this place are few and far between.

Perched on the great spiked gates of the elevator, currently raised to the ceiling, Amelia sits and watches people bustle past below her.

With the number of people living and working here, Impel Down has a population comparable to a small town even without counting the beasts and the prisoners. It takes a lot of work to keep it all running smoothly.

Amelia watches with a practiced eye, keeping track of the flow of the crowd, and occasionally smelling the air. She can smell the sea here, under the overwhelming and ever-present stench of blood. Escape is so tantalizingly close, on this floor, and yet it is still so far away. Getting out is going to take careful planning.

So it’s a good thing she’s had a lot of time to prepare such a plan.

She’s waiting for… okay, one second.

Amelia? Would you count narrating your plan as getting into your head?

She says, in a voice so quiet her lips barely move, “A little bit, yeah. Thanks for asking.”

I do my best. You explain the plan, then.

“Supply ships,” she says. “Impel Down is mostly self-sufficient when it comes to food, the blugori hunt sea kings and a few vegetables are being grown up here, but other things like medical supplies and paper and everything in-between has to be brought in from outside.”

Now that seems like a hole in their perfect security.

“It is, and I’m taking advantage. The only ships that enter and leave this place are prisoner ships and supply ships, both styled as warships. The supply ships aren’t on a proper schedule, but arrive somewhat randomly, specifically so that no one from outside will be able to tell if the ship coming in is a fully stocked supply ship or something much less valuable to attack.”

But you’re not from the outside.

“No, and from in here it can’t be random. If a supply ship is coming in, the number of guards and workers needed at the harbour is ten times bigger, which is why I’m watching the guard rotations to see if it follows that pattern today.”

How good a chance is there that it’s today?

“It’s been a while since the last one. It should come within the week. A decent enough chance, I guess?”

Sounds boring.

“I’ve lived in literal hell my whole life. I prefer boring.”

You know what? That’s fair.

What if I said I have news for you, though?

Amelia twitches, as if wanting to lock eyes with an entity with no face to look at.

“Well you _don’t_ have a face. You’re just the text I’m in. News?”

I’m not the text, I’m _writing_ the… no matter. Yes, news!

We have comments!

“Comments? Oh, right you’re… posting this online? We have readers?”

Yup!

“ _Why_.”

Why what?

“Why’s anyone reading this?”

Hey, I’m a decent writer, and you’re a pretty interesting character.

Amelia looks uncomfortable, fingers clenching the edge she’s sitting on.

“I _am_ uncomfortable. Are there many of them?”

Not really. A couple handfuls, and a lot of them are just friends of mine.

“Oh.” She relaxes a little. “That’s good. I don’t know if I want countless strangers looking in on my life. Do you _need_ to tell me about the comments?”

Well, a few of them are for you.

“Really? Well, alright. What do they say?”

A couple of them just think you’re amazing, then there’s two specifically for you. Timmie, uh, _themysteriousinternetentity_ says, and I quote, ‘Amelia, you are my favorite and I wish you the best of luck finding your palace. Be careful not to get stepped on when you find your first city!’

Amelia breathes a surprised laugh. “Thanks? Thanks for the luck, and… I’ll be fine. I do know what cities are like. Um, why do I know that?”

Your mysterious fourth wall breaking powers, presumably.

“Right. Well, I can make my way through New Kama Land without getting stepped on even on the rowdiest nights, so I think I can handle a city, thank you. I’m small, not helpless.”

You tell them, girl.

Okay, the other one is from SoccerSarah01, who says, ‘Amelia you're amazing and I hope you don't die! Craziness is coming, so be ready!’

“Ah. Thank… you? This is weird, Jules.”

You being aware that your world is made of text is already weird, Amelia.

“Yeah but… well, okay. Thank you, Sarah. I know. If I’m not ready, I’m dead, but I suppose I appreciate your concern. Um, Jules? Are you gonna do this for every chapter?”

Eh, depends. If it stays like this, with two or three comments per chapter, I probably will, but if there’s more than that, I’ll probably have to summarize or just pick the interesting ones or something, so I don’t break the first principle of writing.

“What’s the first principle of writing?”

Make it fun to read.

“Did you make that up just now?”

No.

I made it up yesterday.

She shakes her head and refocuses on the guards passing by below. For a good few hours, nothing much happens, and she settles into what passes for peace in this place.

Then people start moving. Heavy gates are raised, and a ship enters the docks. Not, unfortunately, a supply ship, but a prisoner ship, directly from Enies Lobby.

Amelia stands up and half flies, half scurries up the bars of the gate she’s sitting on to the ceiling.

They’ll be using the elevator soon, and she can’t be there when they do.

“Also I’m joining them on the way down.”

You are?

“I’m getting hungry, so I think I’ll drop by Iva’s for a bite. The elevator shaft is the fastest way down to Level 5, so I might as well grab a ride.”

There are video snails everywhere inside Impel Down, and the elevator shaft is no exception, but it’s not hard for someone Amelia’s size to hide behind one of the massive chains holding said elevator to stay out of sight.

Down they go, into the dark, as the temperature rises and some poor wicked soul is being led to their final destination.

Down here, past Level 2, the screaming and moaning of the prisoners is impossible to ignore, as ever-present as the burning heat and the smell of stale blood and despair.

Sitting with her hands in her lap, Amelia is the image of composure, eyes closed, breathing steady, looking entirely relaxed.

“Well,” she says. “This _is_ home. It’s only weird to you because you’re not used to it.”

Maybe so. I’m glad I’m only writing it.

Amelia stays quiet.

The elevator passes by Level 4 in a long blast of intolerable heat, which then fades, and for a few moments, the temperature is almost reasonable, before it drops, and drops, and drops.

“Jules?”

Yes?

“ _Is_ there going to be a supply ship today?”

Keep watching the guard rotations, and you’ll find out.

“Jules.”

I mean it. I can’t just tell you.

“I’m not sure you actually know, yet. You’re improvising this, aren’t you?”

I… no, I know. That’s not why I’m not telling you and you know it.

“But you _are_ improvising.”

The elevator slows to a stop at Level 5, these unfortunate prisoners doomed to waste away in a frozen hellscape. Once, they were terrifying criminals. Here, what they were or did doesn’t matter. Few things do, in the face of inevitable death.

“Answer the question, Jules.”

Amelia stifles a shudder at the bone-chilling wind. She can handle the cold for far longer than her small stature should imply, but even she will have to move quickly to avoid freezing her toes off in this place.

“Oh fuck off, your silence damns you,” she mutters as she races off the elevator and along a wall, then dropping to the ground and weaving between cages.

Some of the prisoners spot her flitting past, but down here, that’s not an issue.

Level 5 has no video snails, and no regular guards. The prisoners here are half-dead and apathetic to most things. If anything, the sight of a spring-green fairy running past on top of the ice-capped snow raises their spirits.

The wolves are a bigger problem. She can handle one, but they’re never alone, so she keeps an ear out for them.

The crunching of snow under big paws comes from behind. She’s on her wings in the air before the wolf can jump, and then she’s zooming off between the glittering trees.

Her wings don’t let her fly far, but they don’t have to. In a moment, she spots a hidden hollow between two twinned tree trunks, and dives in without a second’s thought.

For a second, she’s in free fall, and then she lands.

Her limbs burn from the cold, but here, the air is warm, and though it’s dark, light and the sound of laughter and joyful conversation seeps through from the end of a short hallway.

She shakes heat back into her extremities as she walks towards it, and then she’s there.

Paradise in the middle of hell. Level 5.5. New Kama land.

There’s a show on stage.

There’s always a show on stage. The oasis is small, and the inhabitants have little to do aside from playing around and watching the shows. They’re learning and practicing for their eventual escape and joining of the revolution, but everyone eventually ends up on stage with something or other to show off, out of boredom if nothing else.

The current show is nothing special, just a small group of outrageously dressed people of indeterminable gender singing a little louder than they strictly speaking have the skills for. Entertaining, but not riveting.

Amelia still smiles. It’s a wild contrast to the dead world outside.

“That’s dangerously close to getting into my head.”

Narration without internal monologue is hard, alright? I’m doing my best.

“Mhm. Food now.”

It’s not currently a mealtime, but something is always available at the bar running alongside one of the walls. It’s only aesthetically a bar, of course. Alcohol is in limited supply down here and money isn’t used, but the illusion is important.

Also at the bar is the queen of this place. Emporio Ivankov herself (currently) leaning on the counter and laughing at something or other with the bartender.

Amelia goes straight there, weaving skilfully around table legs and people legs until she can fly up and land on the bar.

“Ah, Amelia!” Iva says, breaking off her conversation with the bartender. “Sveetheart! Vhere have you been? You missed dinner!”

“Watching for ships. Is there anything left over for me to eat, even though I missed it?”

“Of course,” says Iva, looking to the bartender. “Bring the girl a plate, would you, darling?”

The bartender nods and disappears out the back.

“You vere vatching for ships?” Iva prompts.

Amelia nods. “That prisoner ship you were waiting for just came in. They dropped him off at Level 5. Couldn’t tell you which cell.”

“Thank you, sveetheart. I vill send someone to fetch him vhen the coast is clear. You vere not vatching for a prisoner ship, hovever.”

“No, I was hoping for a supply ship,” says Amelia.

The bartender comes back, carrying a plate of something delicious-looking, which is placed on the bar in front of Amelia. “Here you go, baby girl.”

“Thanks, Carmina. Wait, are these _carrots_?” says Amelia, poking at the brightly-coloured vegetable slices on her plate.

“We got real lucky on our last supply run, so today there’s carrots for everyone!” says Carmina with a smile.

Impel Down sustains itself on seafood and despair, and Amelia digs into her rare treat as if it was candy.

“It practically is.”

I suppose this _is_ the only way you ever get sugar.

“Vhat vas that?” asks Iva.

“Uhhhh, this is really good. I can’t believe there were actually carrots left after everyone finished eating?”

“That’s because we saved some for you,” says Carmina, winking.

“ _Guys_.” Amelia has to take a deep breath to ensure she won’t cry. “You didn’t have to do that!”

Iva puts her hand at Amelia’s back. It is almost big enough to cover her entire body. “Vitamins are important for a growing girl, and you vill need it, if you are planning to leave.”

Amelia goes quiet, eating the rest of her food. “I am,” she says. “It’ll be risky, but I can’t stay here my entire life.”

Iva nods and pats her shoulders reassuringly. “If anyone can do it, you can. In fact, if you are leaving, I vas hoping to ask you a favour.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Come vith me,” says Iva, getting up and walking towards the back of the room.

Amelia waves to Carmina and jumps down to follow, though she pauses for a second after hitting the floor to hiss, “What the heck, Jules?”

Hey, if you talk to me while others are close enough to hear, that’s not on me.

She grumbles a little, and then sets off at Iva’s heels.

Iva’s stride length is of course far longer than Amelia’s, but Amelia is fast, and these days no one who knows her will offer to carry her anymore.

“It’s humiliating and I don’t like it.”

It makes sense. For you, giving up your freedom of movement would be the last thing you’d want.

“More or less. What’s going on here, anyway?”

Go and find out.

Iva enters a door at the back, waving for Amelia to follow. Through it is Iva’s office, or what passes for it in their improvised base of operations. The room has papers and maps, half finished plans for the future and everything it takes for the place to run smoothly.

Amelia hops up to sit on the desk while Iva roots through her drawers.

“I vas hoping you could carry a message for me.”

“A message?”

“I have a boy out there, you see. The man I vork for. Ve vill join him vhen ve leave this place as vell, but I don’t know how long that vill take, and in the meantime ve have not been able to communicate.”

“Dragon?” Amelia asks. “That’s… I mean, yeah, of course I’ll give him your message. How will I find him, though? Do you have his vivre card or something?”

Iva finds what she’s looking for, pulling two pieces of paper out of the drawer. “Vivre cards are too dangerous. None of us have them made. But I can give you information on how to find some of our agents in the field, if you can promise me it vill not fall into the wrong hands.”

Even standing on the desk, Amelia has to look steeply up to meet Iva’s eyes, but she does so unflinchingly. “Yeah, of course. Actually, I can just memorize it.”

“You can?” Iva raises an eyebrow.

“Sure, just give me a sec.”

Iva hands over the topmost paper, and Amelia takes it and disappears under the desk.

“Jules,” she says under her breath. “I swear to _fuck_ if you don’t let me backread this if I need to we’re not friends anymore.”

Pffhahah, you know what, that’s funny enough I’ll allow it.

“Sweet thanks,” she says, and reads the paper. “So… Water 7, in a house with green walls just north of Dock 3, ask for Laina. Sabaody, Grove 42, at a stall selling cotton candy, try to order one with stripes… really? Huh. Last resort, Fishman Island, find a fishwoman named Slash in the Fishman District. That’s simple enough.”

She comes out from under the desk and hops back onto it, handing the paper back to Iva. “I’ve got it. Do I just give the message to one of them, or do I go through them to find the man himself?”

“If you are sure,” Iva says, taking the paper and handing over the other one, this one folded and sealed like a letter with a D written on the front in green ink. “You can leave it to any of them, if you vant, but I vould like to be sure the message arrives. It might be a little out of your vay, but Dragon-boy has information about a lot of things. Maybe he vill be able to help you, if you meet him.”

“Then I’ll do that,” says Amelia, tucking the letter away into her dress.

The two of them leave the office, and are met by a man with bunny ears clipped to his head. “Ivankov! We’ve got news! There’s been an observed shift in the guard rotation on the upper levels. There’ll probably be a supply ship in late this evening!”

Amelia’s heart jumps in her chest at that, and she looks up sharply.

Iva crouches down to get closer to her eye level and puts a hand carefully on her shoulders. “Then you should go now, sveetheart.”

Amelia nods, and suddenly there’s more people there, crowding around. All people she knows, that she’s known for a long time now.

“You’re leaving?”

“Oh goodness, good luck, baby.”

“Take care out there.”

“Don’t get caught now.”

“We made you this!”

Someone leans down and hands her a piece of clothing. A tiny woollen coat, intricately tailored to fit around her wings and coloured a deep moss green.

“What… this is so cool… what the hell, guys?” says Amelia.

“We’re just worried about you.”

“You have your shoes, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, do stay safe, darling.”

“Give the girl some space,” says Iva, waving at the crowd, which reluctantly steps back. “Ve vill miss you, sveetheart. Now go, get out of this terrible place.”

Amelia sniffs, pulling the coat on and marvelling at the fit. “Thank you so much, for everything,” she says. “I’ll miss you too. Take care and stay safe, everyone!”

Then she goes, weaving in between legs and skirts, followed by two dozen voices sending her good luck.

And she runs, through the room, through a tunnel, and then up, up, up, towards freedom.


	3. The Long and Careful Flight to Freedom

“I think I’ve gotten a better handle on the timeline,” says Amelia, climbing quickly up on the inside of a supposedly solid stone wall. “I should’ve guessed earlier. It can’t be more than a few years pre-canon at most, if Iva’s here. Canon might be going on as we speak.”

That’s true. You know, you could change your mind, wait around here instead, meet up with Luffy when he crashes through?

“No. I wouldn’t mind meeting Luffy, but for all I know, I’d have to wait years. I’m _going_.”

Fair enough. Better for our immediate plot, too.

“Plus, I wouldn’t make you have to write Luffy.”

Hey. Just because he’s one of the most difficult characters in fiction to get right doesn’t mean I can’t do it.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

I mean it!

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Anyway, we’re on a new chapter, right?”

Yep. Chapter three. How can you tell?

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the caption right above me reading Chapter 3?”

…I forgot I let you backread.

Yes, it’s a new chapter.

Amelia scurries up an old, crumbling support beam, left behind from when the place was under construction. She jumps onto a ledge and sits down, peeking out through a crack between two rocks.

“So, do we have comments?”

I thought you didn’t like comments?

“Well, I… Now I want to know!”

Heh. Yeah, we have a few, actually. Even a couple readers leaving comments on both posted chapters. Do you have the time?

There are no cages in the room into which Amelia is peeking, just a large number of boxes. As of yet, the door is closed and the room is mostly dark. She half runs, half flies along the wall until she gets to a corner where one of the rocks have shattered, leaving a hole just large enough for her to squeeze through, and then she hides in the shadow between two boxes and sits down.

“Yeah, this’ll be a bit of a wait. Lay it on me.”

Alright. We’ve got several people just thinking you’re cool and wishing you luck, for example Sarah who left you a comment last time and DrakePegasus, who tells you to watch out for birds.

“They really have no faith in me.”

Hey, the world is big, and even Luffy almost got eaten by a bird in the early days.

“I would like to think I have more self-preservation instincts than _Luffy_.”

I would like to think so too. Hmm, gonna leave these for last, so… I have a couple from Amazaria. She asks about what hygiene equipment there is to be had in Impel Down and whether or not Iva got you toothpaste.

“Oh. Uhm, well. It’s limited? We have some soap, but not enough to use more than once a week at most, and then only sparingly. Toothpaste I’ve mostly heard about. It’s not so bad, though. We do have ways to clean our teeth, like flossing and such, and cavities actually aren’t a big problem when you basically never eat sugar.”

The next question is a little more personal.

“More personal than ‘hey, Amelia, do you stink?’”

…Different personal, maybe.

Amazaria asks, ‘hey, if you're okay telling me (us?) this, what was your mother's name? did she sail into the New World, or only Paradise?’

“Oh.”

Amelia shifts, pulling her new coat tighter around her and hugging her legs, tail thumping against the floor before she straightens herself again.

“Her name was Felicity. Felicity Greens. She mostly sailed in Paradise, but she was arrested in the New World after having been there for a couple months. She had… some pretty cool stories about it.”

You alright?

“Yeah, I just…” She takes a deep breath and presses a hand over her eyes while something shaking goes through her. “If I say this here, she won’t… be forgotten. It won’t just be me.”

Oh, Amelia.

If I could hug you, I would.

She laughs, and it’s just a little wet. “Thanks, Jules.”

You want to go through the rest?

“Sure.”

Alright. There’s only two left, anyway, both from RubyPhoenix. In the first one, well, second one, technically, they’re asking about nicknaming you, though they’re having a hard time finding one that fits your name and aren’t sure if you even like nicknames.

Amelia wipes her eyes and breathes like nothing ever happened. “Nicknames are fine. I couldn’t know Iva this long and not be okay with nicknames. What’s the suggestions?”

Well, they said Ami doesn’t really make sense, so they went through Ame, Ameli and Meli without finding one they liked, seems like.

“Ami is fine, though. They can use that.”

You don’t mind complete strangers nicknaming you?

“Why would I? They’re strangers, and I only meet them through you anyway. You’re not gonna call me Ami, are you?”

You’ll always be Amelia to me.

“Alright, good.”

Well.

The first question Ruby asked was, ‘what's your thoughts on Jules? You two seem to get along despite just meeting, and that's cool.’

“…Wh… They want me to answer this _through you_?”

There’s a reason I left this for last. I admit I’m curious.

“Well I’m not _gonna_. That’s weird and awkward.”

Fair enough. Sorry, Ruby.

And that was all the comments, I think. So, what… exactly are we waiting for?

“You don’t know where we are?”

Yes, but what are we _waiting_ … oh. Ohhhh. I get it.

“Think the readers do?”

Probably not. Mind if I…?

“Go ahead.”

Impel Down is an island upon itself, artificial or not. It’s been standing for hundreds of years, and in that time, the industry of pain has run smoothly as clockwork. There is a constant stream of supplies and tools coming in, as well as people, whether to work there or take their final residence.

There is an equally constant stream out, of broken tools to be fixed, of people ending their rotation, one way or another, and mostly of trash.

Someone did the calculations, back when the place was built, of what it would look like if they simply dumped their garbage in the sea, out here in the Calm Belt where nothing is ever washed away. The results were clear. What can be recycled is, but the garbage has to go.

And so here Amelia is waiting, between boxes of trash waiting to be loaded onto the supply ship and carried away.

It’ll be a while yet before the ship leaves, though.

“If it comes in this late? Yeah, it’ll leave around midnight, most likely.”

So why wait here?

“You think they aren’t prepared for someone sneaking something out with the trash? Impel Down is the most secure prison in the world. They search every outgoing ship thoroughly, and that search starts hours before anything is loaded on board, and once it’s on board, even I wouldn’t easily be able to get on the ship.”

So what’ll you do?

The door opens, letting in light from outside, along with a squad of prison workers, who immediately spread out among the boxes.

Amelia grins, determined and tense. “They’ve been doing this for centuries, and this far, no one’s ever gotten this far. The only man to ever escape this place went out the front. These people do this once or twice a month, and they’ve never expected to find anything. The search is _supposed_ to be meticulous, but do you think it actually is?”

I think we’re about to find out.

Amelia gets up on all fours, peeks out from her shadows, and waits.

The workers are efficient. Each one takes the lid of a box, looks through its contents, and then puts the lid back on and nails it shut. Even with their obviously practiced movements, it’s a slow process.

Amelia watches each of them like a hawk, waiting for a slip-up.

It seems impossible, to begin with.

And then, after the first half hour or so, the workers start talking.

It’s workplace conversation, complaining about co-workers, about the food and their bosses. None of them want to be there, sorting trash and hammering nails, and they have nothing better to do than complain to each other.

Amelia slips unseen between the boxes, small and quick as a rat.

Are there rats in Impel Down, actually?

“Of course there’s rats. There’s always rats. They’re vicious, too.”

Of course.

The workers keep working and keep complaining. Amelia focuses in on one in particular, who seems like he’s tired of everything he’s ever done, currently dived deep down in a box full of broken nails and complaining loud enough for everyone.

“Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to just shoot all these poor bastards.”

“The prison system has a purpose, Frank,” says one of the others.

Frank grumbles. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll make the warden sad.”

“Well maybe he should grow some thicker skin.”

“Frank.”

“I know.”

Frank pulls his head out of the box and reaches for the lid, still grumbling.

Amelia, hiding under said lid, tenses.

She’s fast, when she needs to be, and Frank isn’t looking closely. Just before he drops the lid in place, she jumps up, through the gap, and drops into the box.

She lands on a pile of broken nails, and everything goes dark.

“I sure am glad I’m light,” she whispers, on her hands and knees on a surface that would cut deep into her skin, were she any heavier.

At least you made it this far.

“Yeah.” She lets out a breath, letting the racing of her heart slow down just a little. Preparing for something for years doesn’t make it any less scary, when it happens.

And now?

“Now we wait.” She pulls off her nice new woollen coat and spreads it out on the metal below, and then she curls up on it. “Now we wait.”

The sounds of complaining outside are less distinct, through the walls of the box, flowing together into a general background murmur of voices, punctuated by the rustling of trash being sorted through and nails being hammered in.

Few places in Impel Down are quiet, and this is a more pleasant lullaby than screaming, if less friendly than the bustle of Level 5.5.

Amelia must be understandably excited, because it takes her a long, long time to get to sleep. She’s barely dozing when someone picks her box up and jolts her awake, and she does her best to breathe quietly as she’s carried, from the storeroom, across a large area, up a ramp, down a short set of stairs, and then roughly put down.

The noise of movement around her continues for a long while, and then it goes quiet, and the only thing she can hear is the faraway and muted sound of people giving loud orders.

Then even that fades away.

The ship casts off and drifts out of the docks, and for the first time in her life, Amelia leaves the walls of Impel Down.

She falls asleep, there, rocked by the gentle movements of the waves.

\---

If she dreams, it’s not my place to say.

\---

She wakes up to the _thunk_ of her box being set on a hard surface.

“Whu, huh?”

Good morning, Amelia. Sleep well?

“Yeah. I really wasn’t planning to sleep through the whole night.”

You had a stressful day, what with the escaping hell and all, and this short a time after your mother passed, as well. It’s understandable you were exhausted. You probably needed it.

“I suppose.”

She yawns, stretches, double-checks that she still has Iva’s letter to Dragon, and pulls her coat back on.

“Where are we now?”

Only one way to find out.

She rolls her eyes, and then presses an ear against the side of the box.

“This would be so much easier if I had observation haki. Jules, can I have haki?”

Find a teacher and then we’ll talk.

“Rude.”

You didn’t honestly expect me to say anything else? At this point, it’d be a retcon anyway, and you don’t like those.

Amelia doesn’t answer, just closes her eyes and tries to listen.

As far as she can tell, there’s no sound from outside.

“Right,” she whispers.

Then she finds as good a footing as she can on the broken metal inside the box, braces herself against the lid, and pries it off.

The nails come out with a screech and a pop, and she’s hit in the face by bright light and a wave of fresh air, smelling of sea and dust and no blood at all.

The sunlight is bright, even through the one open door of the room she finds herself in and blocked by the shadow of a man.

Amelia stares.

The young marine carrying a box stares back.

“Shit.”

The marine drops the box and fumbles in his pockets, probably for a snail of some sort, but before he can find it, Amelia is upon him.

She crashes into his shoulder, grabs on, and uses the leverage to deliver a short but devastating kick to the side of his head.

The marine goes down, Amelia goes up, flying up so she can land in the shadow just above the door.

Just in time, too. A second later, two more marines come running, one carrying another box, the other falling to their knees beside the downed man. “No! Lars! Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“Did he slip or something?” says the one with the box.

“I don’t know, he’s not waking up. Medic! Get a medic down here!”

“Oh shit. Lars? Lars!”

“Uh,” says Amelia, quietly. “Is he gonna be alright?”

Dunno. You hit him pretty hard.

“Well,” she says. “I guess it’s alright.”

It’s just self-defence. He’s just a red shirt, anyway.

“Technically I think marines only wear black or white and blue shirts, and also you gave him a _name_?”

He’s a bit character! He’s never gonna show up again!

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better, Jules.”

You grew up in hell! _Because_ of these people! Why is _this_ the last straw?

“I’ve never killed anyone before! And poor _Lars_ didn’t do anything to me. He just works here. He probably has a family. Friends. A life.”

Well, okay. If it’s important to you. Breathe. He’s fine.

“Why don’t I trust you.”

I promise, he’s fine. People in this world are sturdy, and also it doesn’t matter because he’s never going to show up again so I can just _say_ that. He’s gonna be okay. Bit of a headache, but nothing dangerous.

“I don’t believe you. But thanks.”

Okay now?

“Yeah. You’re right, it doesn’t really matter. It just kinda hit me, you know? This world is real. My actions have consequences.”

Debatable.

“Fuck off.”

Below where she’s sitting, Lars is carried away for medical attention, and people start coming in again. A stream of people carrying boxes, loading them into this little room.

Looking around, it’s strangely shaped to be a storage room, too long and narrow, with a door at either end.

“Oh,” says Amelia. “Oh, I’m on the sea train. This is Enies Lobby.”

Bingo.

She slips down along the wall behind the boxes and climbs and squeezes past until she’s at the other end of the train car. From above, it was easy enough to see the door, but down here, behind all the boxes, it’s mostly out of sight.

“Right,” she says, and waits until she’s reasonably sure no one’s looking to open it and slip through, into sunshine.

Enies Lobby is an impossible island. Called the island of eternal day, it’s as bright as you would expect, though it’s hard to say where all that sunlight is coming from.

Amelia climbs onto the roof of the next car, taking care to stay on the side away from the island so she’s out of sight, and then she just… breathes.

Welcome to freedom, Amelia.

How does it feel?

She blinks up at the blue sky, looks out at the sea in front of her and listens to the seabirds screech.

“Weird,” she says. “And hungry. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Also, hot.”

I guess it’s summer. Even at the coast, a wool coat is a little much.

“Practically this entire world is coast.”

True enough.

Amelia pulls her coat off and ties it neatly around her waist. Then she stands up and runs off.

“Food cart would be around the middle of the train, probably?”

Logically, yes.

And indeed, when she comes to the middle car and peeks carefully in a window, she spots what looks like a restaurant car, with little tables and a counter over which food is likely to be sold. There is no one there, at the moment, and thanks to the heat, several windows have been left open.

She slips through without a second thought and goes behind the bar looking for food.

And there, under the counter but ready to be put on display when the customers to display it for actually come onboard the train, it is.

“Is that…? Really?”

It is indeed.

Happy freedom day, Amelia. Have a chocolate croissant the size of yourself.

Not saying anything due to what I suspect is overwhelming joy…

“Fuck off,” she mutters.

…Amelia takes the croissant, hides away in a corner under a couch, and eats the best breakfast of her life.

Next stop: Water 7.


End file.
